I'm Sorry
by bri1216
Summary: The brother's struggle with the Asylum aftermath. oneshot.


"You hate me that much?" Dean's voice surprised even him. He hadn't meant to sound pleading. "You think you can kill your own brother." He regained control of his emotions and shook his head. "Alright go ahead. Pull the trigger. Do it!"

Sam pulled and a bullet shot into Dean's chest.

"God, Sammy." Dean whispered as his brother dropped the gun.

"Dean!" Ellicott suddenly left Sam alone with his dying brother. "Dean, no! I'm sorry."

"No, Sam." Dean blinked back his tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I failed you. I'm sorry you hate me." Dean coughed and blood trickled out of his mouth.

"No, I don't. Don't you dare die, Dean. Don't you dare." Sam shook Dean's shoulders gently as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Sammy, you…you-" he sucked in once more before falling limply against the cement.

"Dean! No!" Sam picked up his brother's body and rocked it. "I'm sorry." He sobbed.

"No! Dean I'm sorry." Sam shot up in bed, shaking violently.

"Sammy, go back to sleep." Dean muttered. He knew his brother was having trouble with the events at the Asylum but frankly; he was sore and tired and just wanted to sleep.

"I'm sorry." He whispered brokenly into the darkness. "Dean…I couldn't help it. I-"

"For once in your life, Sam, just shut your mouth." Dean turned over, facing away from his brother. "I don't want to talk about it."

Sam bit his lip and felt the copper taste of blood trickle onto his tongue as Dean threw his own words back at him. He climbed out of bed and into the bathroom, unwilling to let his brother hear him cry.

But Dean heard it. Even though Sam had shut the heavy wooden door and turned on the shower, Dean heard his sobs. He restrained himself from running over to the bathroom and immediately comforting his baby brother. _'I would have never shot him_.' He thought to himself. '_I wouldn't have even taken the gun.'_

'_How can you be so sure_?' a new voice offered. '_You were angry as hell when Sam left for Stanford.'_

'_Not angry enough to shoot him_.' The old voice shot back.

Dean's internal battle was cut short when he heard a pained cry and a loud thud from the other side of the door. He pulled himself out of bed and grimaced at the pain in his chest. "Sam?" he turned the knob but it was locked. Lifting his foot, he kicked the door and it swung open, revealing the form of his brother huddled on the floor and shaking. He leaned against the door frame and tried to slow his shallow, pained breathing. "God, you scared the shit outta me." It was then he noticed the drops of red falling onto the white tiles. He looked to his right and saw the pieces of mirror scattered in the sink. He found the source of the crimson droplets and grabbed Sam's hand. "Sam, what the hell?"

Sam shook his head and pulled his hand back, cradling it against his shirt. "I deserve to bleed." He looked away from his brother and tried to swallow his emotions. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"Hey. Sam, look at me." Dean took Sam's chin and turned it towards him. "Look at me."

Sam slowly lifted his hazel eyes and the moment they locked with Dean's, they pooled over in fresh tears.

"You don't deserve to bleed." He took his shirt off and carefully began wrapping Sam's hand. He realized it was a bad move when Sam gasped and flinched away.

"God, Dean. I'm so sorry." He sobbed.

Dean followed his line of site and found Sam staring at his chest. Red and purple blotches covered his torso and chest where blood vessels had burst. Rock salt did a hell of a lot of damage at close rage. Dean winced and brought Sam's chin back up to meet his gaze once more.

"Hey. Worse has happened little brother." Dean cleared his throat as he felt his voice break.

"But not because of me!" Sam jumped up and began pacing. "God, Dean what if that gun was loaded? You'd be dead. I would've killed you." He raked his hands through his shaggy brown hair and threw his arms up in hysterics. "The only person I have left and I almost fucking killed him!" Dean reached out and tried to put a hand on Sam's shoulder but Sam shrugged him away. "And you never would've shot me. I know you wouldn't. You fucking raised me, Dean. And this is how I repay you?" Sam suddenly felt sick and kneeled in front of the toilet, expelling the meager contents of his stomach. He took deep, rasping breaths as the tears rolled down his face.

"Sammy." Dean tried. He put a hand on his brother's back and gently rubbed it. But he found no words to comfort him. He knew Sam was right. He wiped his face, ashamed at the moisture that grazed his hands. "I'm sorry I failed you." He whispered.

Sam's head shot up and his eyes wildly darted across his brother's body. "You didn't. Don't say that."

"No. Sam, you were right. I'm a pathetic soldier. I failed you by always obeying Dad. By not giving you the normal life you wanted. I'm sorry." Dean gave his brother's shoulder a pat and began to stand up.

Sam grabbed his wrist and pulled him roughly into him. He felt Sam's hot tears spill onto his bare chest and shuttered. Returning the embrace, he felt himself let go as he cried into Sam's hair. After a few deep breaths, he stopped though. He couldn't break, not now. Even though his heart was broken and his body ached, he had to help Sam. "It's ok, Sammy. I'm ok. I forgive you." He rubbed Sam's hair and felt Sam beginning to calm down. "Dude, I'm exhausted." He stood up, pulling his brother with him.

Sam nodded and inched away, slowly making his way back to his bed. He flopped down onto the comforter and inhaled sharply.

"Sammy?" Dean laid down in his own bed but moved to the edge. "You'd better stay with me tonight. Someone's gotta make sure I'm still breathing through the morning right?" Dean smirked.

Sam complied immediately and moved next to his brother, allowing himself to rest against Dean's toned shoulder. "I'm sorry." He whispered.

"Can it, little brother." He lightly rubbed his shoulder. "We've had your damned chick flick moment." He squeezed Sam closer to him and felt a long exhale come from his brother.

As he listened to the now even breaths coming from the man beside him, Dean knew it would be ok. He was battered, emotionally; physically. But he had Sam. And Sam hadn't meant it. Deep down, it cut. But so did Stanford; and he got over that. As long as Sam wasn't in pain anymore, Dean would be just fine. That's why Dean was still here. In case Sam needed him. And he always would, and Dean would always accept a simple "I'm sorry." And move on.


End file.
